


King of Steel, Queen of Shamrocks

by Morgenleoht



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Chess Metaphors, Child Soldiers, Crimes & Criminals, DEAD FIC, Domestic Violence, Fantastic Racism, Forced Pregnancy, Hate Crimes, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loud Sex, Mentions of sex work, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Self-Esteem Issues, Vaginal Sex, War Crimes, implied slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-11-15 03:15:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11222127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgenleoht/pseuds/Morgenleoht
Summary: The last of her clan, Colleen Killian is an independent salvager (sounds better than scavver) who becomes embroiled in Commonwealth politics when Arthur Maxson parks the Prydwen at the Boston Airport.Arthur Maxson knows a queen piece when he sees one. The question is on which side does she stand?In the Commonwealth, the sins of the past lie forgotten until dragged into the light.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, fantastic racism and violence, and mentions of sex work, crimes, slavery, torture, domestic violence and war crimes. My not so triumphant return to Fallout fanfiction. AU where Sparrow (Colleen) is just trying to survive in the Commonwealth and Arthur Maxson was born ten years earlier and came to the East much later.

 

_“People of the Commonwealth. Our intentions are peaceful. Do not interfere. We are the Brotherhood of Steel.”_

Well, if someone wanted to enter the clusterfuck that was post-War Massachusetts in style, Colleen supposed a giant blimp that dropped vertibirds like a bloatfly spawning maggots was the way to do it. She stood on the top of Fort Strong with a sack of military-grade components in her backpack and watched it sail ponderously towards the Boston Airport. Practically on the doorstep of Easy City Downs and Nordhagen Beach. The new neighbours weren’t going to make any friends.

            She wrinkled her nose against the stench of dead super mutants, which was even worse than that of living ones. Grenades, mines, stealth and a sniper rifle were necessary tools of the trade for an independent salvager (sounded better than scavver to her mind) but the biggest of the brutes cost her the final Stealth Boy she’d picked up from her last big haul. Someone would gladly pay for the arsenal of mini nukes and other weapons; regrettably, the people with the caps for said information were the last ones who should have them. Keeping mum on the situation might be the best option for the nonce because no one would believe a single clanswoman managed to wipe out a fortress of super mutants.

            Nearly a hundred years since the power of the clans had been broken at the Commonwealth Provisional Government massacre and they’d forgotten how the Irish made war. Colleen shook her head in disgust. If Seanascal were here to see it, the ghoul would be disgusted.

            She climbed down from the wall and began to loot the dead. Mostly pipe pistols and boards, but the leader had a very nice laser rifle and boxes of screws could be stuffed into extra corners of her pack and pockets. Colleen specialised in high-value, low-weight salvage, which generally meant greater risk than those who settled for more common materials. She deemed it worth it because the time between scavenging runs was longer, allowing her a few weeks of what passed for idle luxury in Bunker Hill or Goodneighbour.

            Sunset had come during her work so she decided to find an isolated corner of the fort, far away from the reek of rotting flesh, and camp overnight. It would be a long walk past Easy City Downs on the morrow but since Raiders were lazy by nature, if she left at dawn she’d be in safer climes by the time they woke up. Perhaps she could stop by Nordhagen Beach on the way and barter a decent pipe pistol and ammo for some of Kathleen’s gourd mash and bread.

            Being woken by the clanking of power-armoured soldiers hadn’t been on her to-do list for Samhain. She crouched under the rough lean-to she’d constructed, quietly rolling up her sleeping bag and hoping she could sneak past the gallowglass troopers. The Brotherhood of Steel might have peaceful intentions but if they were securing a nuclear arsenal, they might take objection to the presence of a salvager.

            “By the Steel,” observed a gravelly basso. “It looks like a war went on here.”

            “One or two combatants at most, likely armed with sniper rifles and grenades,” said a lighter tenor with professional detachment. “Doesn’t the Commonwealth have a tradition of light skirmisher infantry?”

            “I don’t know,” the basso growled. “The clans have been broken for years and the Minutemen were decimated at Quincy, so we don’t have anything to study.”

            “Well, whoever did this, I hope they left the mini nukes,” the tenor said dryly. “I’d hate to explain to Elder Maxson that some scavver took off with an arsenal that could alter the power balance around here.”

            “A force of scavvers couldn’t take away the nukes,” the basso retorted. “But stay sharp. Those corpses are less than a day old and the killers may be around.”

            So much for stealth. Colleen popped out of her lean-to, hands in the air, and said mildly, “Please don’t shoot me.”

            A helmetless gallowglass with tousled dark hair and a laser-scarred face looked between her and the carnage. “You did this?” he asked with justifiable scepticism.

            “Kern warfare,” she said simply. “Grenades, mines and a sniper rifle while staying under cover.”

            “What do you do for a living?” the gallowglass asked.

            “Independent salvager,” she responded. “High-value, low-weight goods. Military components, mostly. I don’t touch mini nukes – too heavy and dangerous. There’s Raiders and Gunners around here who are dangerous enough.”

            “Scavver,” the tenor, a combat-armoured man wearing an orange uniform and carrying a wicked-looking laser rifle, said dryly.

            “Independent salvager,” she retorted. “Scavvers trade common scrap for a few caps. _I_ trade my goods for hundreds of caps at a time.”

            “That’s enough,” the gallowglass ordered calmly. “You’ve saved the Brotherhood a significant amount of trouble today, civilian. You’re free to go – that racecourse should be purged of Raiders by now.”

            “You’re just letting her leave with goods the Brotherhood could use?” the tenor asked, sounding shocked. “Who knows what she’s got in there?”

            “Five rolls of military-grade duct tape, three circuit boards of the same quality, four enhanced targeting cards, roughly twenty boxes of screws and a rather nice laser rifle,” Colleen informed him tartly. “Most of the bread’s still there, Sassenach. Don’t get annoyed that the radrat’s chewed a bit of the crust.”

            The gallowglass arched an eyebrow. “Would you be willing to sell the components to us? I can give you a pass that will get you through to our quartermaster.”

            “What kind of price are you offering?” Colleen asked. “I wouldn’t sell this lot for anything less than two hundred caps.”

            He pursed his lips. Rather handsome man with those rugged features and that deep voice. “I honestly don’t know what Proctor Teagan would offer but it would save you a long walk through hostile territory to Bunker Hill.”

            “I’m not averse to selling in the future but I don’t know you lot well enough to trust walking into your base if I can’t get a reasonable price up front,” Colleen finally responded. “Nothing stopping you from beating me up and taking the goods.”

            The tenor looked ready to explode but the gallowglass nodded. “I understand. The Brotherhood of Steel aren’t the enemies of the Commonwealth and I hope you learn that in time. May the road rise to meet you, civilian.”

            “And may God hold you in the palm of His hand,” she responded automatically. She grabbed her goods and got going. No need to give them a reason to change their minds.

…

“I’m a little surprised you didn’t offer the clanswoman a chance to join us, Danse.”

            The Paladin selected a pawn and moved it forward to threaten Arthur Maxson’s remaining rook. “I would have put that in the pass if she’d accepted it. Trust is thin on the ground in the Commonwealth, it seems.”

            “Between the Institute, the Raider bands and the Gunners, I’m not surprised,” Arthur said dryly. “The Commonwealth reminds me of the Mojave before the Courier united it.”

            Until he came East, the Elder had never appreciated how _civilised_ the West was. The Capital Wasteland, even after being tamed by the Lyons, was bad enough because it had attracted the most nukes in the Great War. The Commonwealth was more intact but the fractured nature of its population – and the Glowing Sea to the southwest – rendered it vulnerable to influences like the Institute.

            “They made two attempts to unite,” Danse replied, sipping from his cup of bourbon. “First under the ghoul Minuteman General Seanascal and then as the Commonwealth Provisional Government. The Institute undermined them both times.”

            “So removing the Institute may solve many of their problems,” Arthur mused. He took one of Danse’s knights with his queen. “Try and cultivate that clanswoman. We need local allies and a woman who walks into a den of super mutants and leaves nothing alive to salvage military hardware, even if she never joins us, would make a good one.”

            Danse nodded and took Arthur’s rook with his pawn. The Elder smiled inwardly to see the Paladin’s mistake and immediately initiated checkmate with the queen. Playing chess with the soldier who’d been one of the Lyons’ most trusted Wastelander recruits was stimulating. If he was to command the East Coast Brotherhood, he needed to have local allies and Danse was shaping to become a candidate for Sentinel.

            “I see your reputation as a tactician is warranted,” Danse finally said.

            “As is yours,” Arthur replied with as much a smile as his scarred face could manage.

            The Paladin leaned back, brown eyes half-closed as he examined the chessboard. “Our arrival in the Commonwealth shifts the balance of power, Maxson. The Gunners and the Nuka World Raiders won’t take our presence lying down, let alone the Institute itself.”

            “I know,” Arthur agreed. “That is why we need to make local allies. Unlike the Capital Wasteland, which is used to a strong central authority, the Commonwealth has a tradition of individual freedom as the birthplace of American liberation. I would prefer to work with local power structures rather than replace them.”

            He shifted in his seat. “This is much like the Mojave Wasteland, Paladin. And someone like this clanswoman may very well become the Courier of this place.”

            “Or the Lone Wanderer,” Danse said softly.

            “Or the Lone Wanderer.” Arthur tapped the queen piece. “If this war is a chess game, then she is the queen. As to which side… only time will tell.”

…

The tenor she’d met at Fort Strong turned out to be a sour-faced Southron git by name of Knight Rhys. The gallowglass was Paladin Danse. And their Scribe friend was a delicate ginger-haired girl named Haylen. All three manned a stall in Bunker Hill and while Colleen could get better prices from KL-E-O in Goodneighbour, the trading hub was closer to her usual haunts. John Hancock was getting… tetchy… with the Brotherhood, who reportedly didn’t like ghouls, being in Boston and she wasn’t minded to deal with his paranoia at the moment.

            Today, they were accompanied by a few more gallowglasses – the Knights and Paladins – and three kerns, who were called Lancers by the Brotherhood. It appeared their commander, Elder Arthur Maxson, was in town. The man was a mixture of warlord and clan chief from the sounds of it, hailing from the distant Mojave Wasteland and the New California Republic. The Brotherhood revered him as the clans did Seanascal.

            “Colleen!” Haylen greeted her with a broad grin. “Got anything good today?”

            “Surprisingly, I do,” the salvager responded. “Don’t suppose I could talk your Scribes into _not_ exploring pre-War ruins? You’re cutting into my profit margin.”

            “Cry me a river,” Rhys said sourly.

            “What _is_ your problem with clansfolk?” Colleen asked sharply as she set down the package of goods for Haylen to examine.

            “His family were dispossessed by a clansman in Megaton down south,” Haylen answered before Rhys could. “Ever hear of Colin Moriarty?”

            “Not him in particular but Clan Moriarty comes by its shady reputation honestly,” Collen replied. “It’s one thing to be a sharp trader but quite another to exploit others.”

            “Well, we’re certain he dabbles in slavery, if only of the indentured kind,” Haylen continued. “Unfortunately, he’s always on the sunny side of the law and the Brotherhood can’t get the Capital leaders to change it. Not without using force that would be, ah, impolitic.”

            “Ah.” Colleen ignored Rhys’ glower and tapped the Assaultron circuit board. “That would sell for a hundred caps if you were to buy it from a trader. I’m asking for seventy-five.”

            “Fifty,” Haylen answered smoothly. “There’s a glut on the market thanks to those increased robot attacks in the south.”

            “Fifty! Why don’t you just ask for the dignity of my clan while you’re at it?” Colleen countered tartly.

            “You’re clanless,” Rhys interjected. “So your dignity is non-existent.”

            “While I live, my clan lives,” she retorted flatly. That was a low blow to bring up the Fiddlers Green massacre. How had the Brotherhood found out?

            “Sixty-five,” Haylen said quietly. “Five more than I’m authorised to offer. Consider it praghas onóir for Rhys’ insult.”

            “Fine,” she said bitterly. “It’s either that or I beat the price out of him.”

            “Getting barred by Kessler isn’t worth it,” Haylen pointed out.

            “He won’t be in Bunker Hill forever,” she countered. “But I want ten percent extra on this haul as praghas onóir and I’ll let it go.”

            “Done.” Haylen quickly processed the transaction as Rhys fumed. She could understand not liking clansfolk because of a Moriarty but making a dig at a clanless woman was just low.

            Colleen swept the caps into her beltpouch angrily. She did _not_ need to be reminded about Fiddlers Green today.

            “’Praghas onóir’?” asked a rough, hoarse tenor from behind her.

            “’Honour price’ amongst the Irish clans,” Danse explained as she turned around. “Scribe, what the hell happened?”

            “The Knight decided to make a dig about the fact I’m clanless,” Colleen said through gritted teeth. “Never you mind that I was a Fiddlers Green Killian until they were killed by a ghoul horde about ten years ago.”

            The barrel-chested, thick-thewed man in a long, fleece-lined brown leather coat raised an eyebrow. “Killian? Isn’t that the clan of Seanascal?”

            She smiled mirthlessly. “You’ve heard of the Ghoul General?”

            “Actually, I know he was a pre-War black ops soldier who worked for a faction that became the Enclave,” the man rasped. “But as I know he’s a folk hero of the Commonwealth, I will keep my opinion of his atrocities to myself.”

            “He’s a prick,” Colleen said bluntly. “But he’s _our_ prick.”

            “Precisely.” His smile was thin. “Just like Rhys is a prick. But he’s _ours_.”

            “We agree on something,” she said, finding some humour as the tension ebbed.

            Danse cleared his throat. “Colleen, this is Elder Arthur Maxson. Elder, this is Colleen Killian, the woman who wiped out a whole fort of super mutants.”

            Maxson smiled a little, the expression pained and lopsided because of the vicious scarring on the right side of his face that dragged the corner of his mouth down into a scowl. “An honour, Lady Colleen. I’ve got veteran Paladins who can’t match such a feat.”

            “And you, Rí Déanta as Cruach.” She caught and met his vivid blue eyes. “King of Steel.”

            It would be the name he bore in Commonwealth history, though neither she nor he knew it at the time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence and fantastic racism. This is a massively AU Sparrow for reasons that will become clear in time.

 

“Does that make you the Queen of Shamrocks?” Arthur Maxson countered, his smile deepening as much as he dared.

            “I’m no queen, Maxson,” Colleen Killian replied in that warm alto with a hint of roughness to it. She was skinny in comparison to a well-fed Brotherhood woman, wiry muscle wrapped around delicate bones, dainty hands as scarred, nicked and callused as his own. The build of a Lancer, the language of a Scribe. “What do you want here?”

            “To meet the people of Bunker Hill,” he told her.

            “I mean in the Commonwealth.” She crossed her arms and met his gaze frankly.

            _I’m not impressed by you,_ those large radstag-doe brown eyes said. _Your zeppelin and vertibirds and steel-clad army don’t scare me._

If Arthur Maxson had a flaw, if flaw it was, the confident gaze of a powerful woman turned him on.

            “We aren’t the enemy,” he assured her. “How many nests of feral ghouls and super mutants have been cleared by the Brotherhood since our arrival?”

            “Ní dhéanfaidh aon ní le haghaidh saor in aisce,” she muttered, then louder, “Nothing is for free.”

            “That is true,” Arthur conceded. “We keep whatever technology we acquire from those sites we clear. We are sharing seed and fertiliser with settlements on the understanding we get thirty percent of the harvest. Once our business in the Commonwealth is concluded, we will likely set up a chapter here to work with whatever local government is in power.”

            The last few hours had been spent assuring the traders and Mayor Kessler that the Brotherhood weren’t here as conquerors. They appeared dubious but the chaotic state of the Commonwealth led them to at least accept the security that his soldiers brought.

            “There’s no government here and you bloody well know it, Maxson,” Colleen shot back. “The Minutemen were killed at Quincy and even before that, they were breaking apart. Every time we’ve tried to unite, something goes wrong.”

            “And by ‘something’, you mean the Institute,” Arthur said grimly.

            She blanched, rosy complexion losing its colour to become pale as Brahmin milk. With her chestnut-red hair, it wasn’t a pretty look, the freckles on her nose stark brown splotches. “You’re bloody insane and we’re going to die for it.”

            “Am I and will you?” Arthur caught her gaze. “The Institute might be centred in the Commonwealth but their tentacles reach as far as the Capital Wasteland and even the Mojave. I have personally killed two synths sent to replace me. The Institute fears the Brotherhood of Steel and it fears a united Commonwealth. I refuse to be ruled by that fear.”

            Her eyes narrowed. “So you’re confirming that the synths replace people?”

            “I saw the exploded head’a one in Goodneighbour,” muttered a ghoul just loud enough to be heard.

            “Yes.” Arthur held her gaze. “You don’t strike me as a coward, Lady Colleen. The kind of woman who walks into a super mutant stronghold and leaves nothing alive couldn’t be.”

            “I’ve seen what the Institute does to people,” she said flatly. “I don’t salvage in Cambridge for that reason.”

            “By doing that, you’re letting them rule you.” Arthur paused and added, “I never knew a clanswoman who liked to be ruled.”

            She spun around and stalked off, blending into the crowd. A bald, sunglasses-wearing caravan worker muttered something uncomplimentary in Irish as he was shoved aside, following it up with a glare at Arthur before returning to shovelling Brahmin shit.

            He sighed and turned towards Danse. They might as well head back for the day. If the Steel was with him, his words would sink into her mind and stay there.

…

Three days later, Colleen was counting out her caps in the Bunker Hill inn, trying to calculate when her next salvaging run would need to happen. The Brotherhood were efficient, stripping areas she’d suspected to be a goldmine of junk, and she’d need to range farther afield – possibly going into the West as the East was well and truly cleaned out by now. That would mean going through Cambridge and that scared the shit out of her.

            “Money troubles?” On cue, Deacon the Commonwealth’s resident shit-stirrer took up the stool next to hers at the bar.

            “What do you think?” she said tightly. For some reason, Deacon liked to drop on by every few months and check on her. The problem was no one knew who he was or where he came from. No clan, no faction, not even a settlement to his name. For a culture that thrived on social relationships, the void was… troubling.

            “Hey, I’m not the enemy.” Deacon put his hands up with a smirk.

            “I’ve been hearing that a lot.” She stacked another ten caps.

            “Yeah, well, in my case it’s true. Did I ever tell you about the time I went to the Capital Wasteland?”

            “No and I don’t particularly care,” Colleen informed him. “I’m not in a good mood today, Deacon.”

            “I noticed,” he said dryly. “Look, you brought up some good points about the Brotherhood the other day, asked some questions that needed to be heard.”

            “If you’re trying to make a point, make it. I’m going to be heading out tomorrow and that means I need sleep.”

            “Maxson plays nice but the Brotherhood rules in the Capital Wasteland and since he’s the new Elder, that makes him the King. The King of Steel as you called him.” Deacon bought a bottle of Nuka Cola from Tony Savoldi. “Hang onto that scepticism, Colleen Killian. It might be what saves the Commonwealth from a group of steel-plated assholes.”

            He melted back into the crowd and she rolled her eyes. Resident Commonwealth shit-stirrer and conspiracy theorist. The Brotherhood’s presence was cause for concern but the way he carried on, you’d think they were the worst thing since the Commonwealth Provisional Government massacre at Bunker Hill.

            Colleen sighed and returned to counting caps. The need for survival was on her mind, entwined with Maxson’s comment about her fear. That blue-eyed, thick-thighed, broad-shouldered bastard hit too close to home in more ways than one.

            _“I have personally killed two synths sent to replace me.”_ That simple statement, no boasting, was terrifying and amazing all at once.

            She pushed her caps into the beltpouch and muttered something savage in Irish. The Brotherhood was a complication that the Commonwealth didn’t need.

            “Did you hear? The Brotherhood’s got a base at Cambridge,” a caravaner told Tony. “If that ain’t pissing on the Institute’s doorstep, I don’t know what is.”

            _Arthur Maxson is as insane as he is handsome,_ Colleen thought sourly as she grabbed her drink and went for the room she’d hired. She might as well get some sleep if she had to pass through Cambridge tomorrow.

            It never occurred to her to question why ‘handsome’ was in the descriptor when he was just a mad, daft bastard.

…

“State your business, civilian.”

            “I’m just passing through.” The unspoken ‘idiot’ was plain in Colleen’s tone and Arthur suppressed a smile.

            “Where are you going?” the Knight demanded.

            “Who appointed you overlord of the Commonwealth?”

            “It’s my business to ask questions of any who enter the compound.”

            “I’m not even in your bloody compound, Knight.” Yes, Colleen was annoyed. “Blocking traffic like this will piss off the traders and in a few days, no one’ll deal with you.”

            Arthur pushed past Danse, who was already heaving another heartfelt long-suffering sigh, and exited the Cambridge Police Station. There was a power-armoured Knight – Haines, if he recalled the woman’s surname correctly – standing at a makeshift barricade that hadn’t been there this morning. Colleen, wearing an empty backpack and carrying a laser rifle loosely in one hand, was glaring up at the guard.

            “Stand down, Haines,” he ordered calmly. “I don’t recall any orders regarding a blockade on the road past the police station.”

            “Knight-Sergeant Rhys gave the command for while you’re here, Elder Maxson,” Haines responded sheepishly.

            “Everybody’s favourite Brotherhood prat strikes again,” Colleen said dryly.

            “Lady Colleen…” Arthur sighed.

            “King Arthur,” she said with a wicked smirk.

            “Are you bound and determined to be a thorn in my side?” he asked.

            “Given the Brotherhood’s doing a good job of it with me, payback’s fair.”

            “Do you know this woman, Elder Maxson?” Haines asked confusedly.

            “We’ve met. She’s an influential independent salvager who works out of Bunker Hill and the Brotherhood’s search and retrieve missions are cutting into her trade.” Arthur smiled slightly in Colleen’s direction and received a half-lidded glance that might have been a glare. He wasn’t sure because it might have also been smouldering.

            “Well, this is interesting but I got a bit of ground to cover this afternoon. Unless you lot have cleared out Arcjet?” she said testily.

            “Uh, yes, we have,” Haines admitted.

            Colleen muttered an interesting string of lilting words that were Irish and obscene. Arthur had heard the clan words for ‘fucking’ and ‘bastard’ on several occasions since coming East, so he knew their meaning.

            “I like you too,” he said blandly when she was done.

            “If you weren’t such a handsome git, I’d’ve shot you by now!” she snapped. “Smug, smartarse-“

            Very few women called Arthur handsome, not with a face like his: broken aquiline nose, severe facial scarring on the right cheek, a permanent scowl. Most called him ‘commanding’, ‘powerful’ and other flattering adjectives meant to stroke his ego. So he grinned so much it literally hurt, not that he cared at the moment.

            “Gah!” she finished. “Now you’re bloody laughing at me.”

            “Actually, I’m smiling at the fact you called me ‘handsome’,” Arthur informed her. “Thank you for the compliment.”

            “You’re welcome.” She paused and added, “Doesn’t mean you’re not an arse though.”

            “Just as you being a beautiful woman doesn’t stop you from being one,” Arthur pointed out.

            Haines dearly looked like she wanted to be elsewhere. “Uh, ah, don’t you have a meeting or something, sir?” the Knight eventually asked.

            “I have to head back to Diamond City if Arcjet’s been stripped,” Colleen said with a sigh. “Bloody hell, I hate that place.”

            “You could stay here tonight,” Arthur offered.

            “Oh sweet Steel no,” Haines muttered under her breath in Latin. The Elder chose to ignore her comment. The Eastern Brotherhood were touchy about who he associated with when the Western Brotherhood were praying he’d find a wife and soon. He… Well, he was just hoping to somehow soften Colleen’s attitude towards him. And maybe make love to a beautiful woman.

            Colleen flicked a glance at the Knight like she understood her, a glint of devilry shining in her brown eyes. “I might at that, Maxson,” she said cheerfully. “Even if you’re a right arse.”

            Arthur grinned so hard his cheek hurt. Perhaps there were wiser decisions he could make but he felt a bit reckless. “Then welcome to the Cambridge Brotherhood of Steel base, Colleen Killian.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death (including those of minors), violence, fantastic racism, drug addiction and hate crimes. Time for some smut because this ain’t a slow burn fic.

 

The police station had been cleared of any debris, the two rooms either side of the foyer lined with rows of improvised beds made from steel tubing and a thin pad. Colleen studied the design, realising that the frame came apart to be packed away and the mattress wasn’t that unlike a sleeping bag. She wondered if she could find someone to replicate it. The lives of travellers around the Commonwealth would become much more comfortable.

            “So this is the Brotherhood’s home away from home,” she observed, scanning every potential exit. She’d entered the base just to annoy Haines but now inside, Arthur Maxson at her back close enough for his heat to be felt, she wondered if it was a wise choice.

            “Yes,” Arthur confirmed, breath stirring her hair. “It’s on the doorstep of what we believe to be, if not their base, a major source of information on the Institute.”

            “You’re insane,” she murmured.

            “You keep on telling me that,” he noted. “I’d rather you keep on saying I’m handsome.”

            “If there’s one thing you’re going to learn in the Commonwealth, Arthur Maxson, is that what you want and what you get are two very different things.”

            “What did you want, Colleen Killian, and what did you get?” The question sounded sincere.

            She closed her eyes against the old pain. “I just wanted a quiet life, to be left alone, after the clan ghouls went feral at Fiddlers Green. Have you ever heard of University Point?”

            “Yes.” Arthur’s tone said it all.

            “I settled there. Married a local man because the Mayor loved the idea of the Killians, even the poor cousins of Fiddlers Green, continuing in his settlement. Nathan was an arse but our son Shaun was the loveliest baby.”

            “And then Jacqueline found something while scavenging, something that they destroyed University Point to get but never found.”

            “Yes.” Colleen’s voice nearly broke on the word. “But you did.”

            “Not I, personally. The Brotherhood.” Arthur sighed gustily. “I don’t know if the laser rifle designs were something the Institute would make use of. Their weapons are weak in comparison to the Brotherhood’s but they seem to have focused on biosciences instead of military hardware. Pity they didn’t consider bioethics a worthy course of study as well.”

            “So you’re saying that University Point died for nothing?”

            “ _No_.” Arthur’s denial was forceful. “They didn’t deserve to die at all. Were you there when it happened?”

            “No. I was in Bunker Hill trading for winter supplies. When I came back, the ruins were full of skeleton-synths and the only bodies I saw were the adults and adolescents. The children, including my Shaun, were gone.”

            “By the Steel.” Paladin Danse was there and he sounded sickened. “What were they? Recruits for indoctrination or test subjects?”

            “We’ll never know.” Colleen opened her eyes. “I hit the chems for a while in grief. Daytripper and Calmex, mostly. Then I heard that the Institute had a surface agent called Conrad Kellogg.”

            “He’s come onto our radar,” Arthur said grimly, his expression a mixture of anger and grief. “But he hasn’t been seen for a year or so.”

            Colleen’s grin was mirthless. “That’s because I, the synth detective Nick Valentine and everybody’s favourite mutt Dogmeat tracked him down to Fort Hagen. He was a Western man, you know that? Didn’t understand how we clansfolk made war. His synths and booby traps were _nothing._ ”

            Danse blinked. “Wait, there’s a _synth_ openly acting as a… detective?”

            “He’s one of those creepy rubber-faced ones that, for whatever reason, the Institute gave the memories of a pre-War policeman to. Then they dumped him on a rubbish heap.” Colleen sighed. “He’s a good… whatever he is. He does nothing but help people.”

            “I’ve heard of Nick Valentine but not that he was a Gen-2 synth,” Arthur said thoughtfully.

            “Glorified version of a Mr Handy?” Haylen suggested tentatively. “Probably virtual intelligence as opposed to artificial intelligence.”

            “You’re the Scribe,” Arthur said. “I’ll take your word for it.”

            Rhys was regarding Colleen with something resembling sympathy. “Didn’t know it was that bad. I’m sorry.”

            “I’m sorry about Moriarty,” she replied in kind. “His clan were always scum.”

            The Knight-Sergeant just grunted. Not the kind to accept an apology gracefully, she supposed.

            “We want to end the Institute’s reign of terror,” Arthur said quietly. “Not just because of their technological abominations but because of the suffering they inflict. Suffering you know intimately.”

            His expression was sincere, vivid blue eyes burning with grief and rage… for her sake. “Gen-3 synths, even their Coursers, can die. We’ve prepared for as many contingencies as we can. We aren’t going into this battle blindly, Lady Colleen.”

            “But my people will be caught in the middle,” she pointed out.

            “Only if you choose to be. You can fight for yourselves by fighting with us.”

            Colleen glanced away from that intense gaze. Arthur Maxson demanded too much by dint of existing. It was easier to stay low and keep to herself. “Yes, a bunch of farmers and traders versus the worst that the Institute has to offer.”

            “The Institute sends agents to the surface. You’ve killed one of them,” Danse pointed out. “You know the region. You can use the terrain against them.”

            “Plant information through traders of caches in dangerous areas,” Arthur suggested. “Then when synths are sent to retrieve those assets, ambush them. Danse told me what you did at Fort Strong. Gen-1 and Gen-2 synths are a lot more fragile than super mutants.”

            “Enough,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m tired. It’s been a long walk from Bunker Hill and I’ve nothing to show for it. Is there somewhere I can roll out my sleeping bag?”

            Arthur jerked his chin to the left. “There’s a space in a little alcove. I’ll be going over recon reports most of the night, so you’re welcome to the bed there.”

            “Oh no, Arthur Maxson, I’m not using your bed.”

            “A pity. But as you wish.” Arthur shrugged heavy shoulders. How in the hell had that man gotten so _thick_? Colleen tried to imagine what he’d look like naked and couldn’t, because masses of muscle on a human body that wasn’t green was incomprehensible.

            “What the hell did they feed you as a child?” she blurted. “I’ve never seen anyone who wasn’t a super mutant built like you.”

            Arthur’s lips pursed, like he was trying to suppress a grin. “Part of the bulk is my armoured battlecoat. Part of it is having access to proper nutrition and exercising for hours on end since childhood. The rest is genetic – the Maxsons have always been big men.”

            “Well, it’s bloody unnatural,” she said testily.

            Now he was grinning, though the expression dragged down a bit because of the facial scar. “I assure you, Lady Colleen, my muscle is natural. You’re welcome to examine it personally if you’d like.”

            Danse coughed awkwardly. “Uh, recon reports?”

            Colleen glanced around and saw the pained expressions on the Brotherhood soldiers’ faces. They didn’t much like their Elder flirting with a Wastelander, it seemed. Well, since today seemed to be the day of stupid life choices, she decided to give them something to really have the vapours over.

            She grabbed that ring-pull zip on Maxson’s black uniform and dragged him down, planting a kiss on those thick lips. They parted immediately as he took command of the kiss, teeth scraping against her bottom lip, hands sliding down the sides to grasp her arse firmly enough to press her body against that ridiculously broad chest.

            When they ended the kiss, Maxson’s eyes burned like gas-fed flames. “I have to go through those recon reports, Lady Colleen, but you’ve done a good job of thoroughly distracting me from my duty.”

            “If you’re able to think about those reports, I haven’t done a good enough job,” she countered.

            His smile reached his eyes and transformed the scowl into a gentle smirk. “I look forward to your further attempts.”

            “What makes you think I’ll try again?” True, the man was an excellent kisser but she’d only kissed him to make a point to the Brotherhood soldiers.

            “Because if I’m kissing you, I’m not going over plans to deal with the Institute,” he pointed out.

            “Smug bastard,” she muttered in Irish, earning a laugh. He knew what ‘bastard’ meant, probably because many a clansperson had no doubt directed the word at him.

            “Go and rest, Lady Colleen,” he advised gently. “We’ll talk later.”

…

“So you’re going to seduce her to our side?”

            Arthur sighed and pinched his broken nose. Danse and the others had been scandalised by his behaviour. Every chapter had its own flavour of discipline and protocol: the NCR chapters were conservative, the Mojave one quite liberal after Veronica’s changes, and the Capital Wasteland was apparently strict about outside relationships despite recruiting Wastelanders. “Do you know how often it is I meet a woman who thinks I’m attractive? Not because I’m the Elder, not because I’m a powerful man with a lot of caps, but because for whatever reason the Creator gave her bad taste in men, she thinks I am physically attractive? About as often as deathclaws decide to snuggle down with radrabbits.”

            “That woman is no radrabbit,” Danse growled. “If she was Brotherhood, I’d be throwing you after her into that bedroom and locking the door. But Colleen is a clanswoman descended from a lineage of saboteurs, assassins and guerrilla fighters. As the Senior Paladin here, I’d be neglecting my duty if I didn’t have worries about your safety, Elder Maxson.”

            “She’s accepted our hospitality. I know enough about the Irish to know they consider that sacred,” Arthur countered. “Danse, I don’t expect her to join the Brotherhood. I think something would be lost if she did.”

            “She doesn’t care about your rank,” the Paladin said slowly. “She’s not subject to your orders.”

            “She’s a confident, powerful woman,” Arthur agreed. “I don’t know about your preferences, Danse, but that’s a hell of a turn on for me, if I can speak frankly.”

            “You see her as an equal.”

            “Or near enough.” Arthur cleared his throat and then swallowed to ease the dryness in it. That kiss had nearly sent him to his knees. “We need to study those recon reports.”

            Three or four hours later, he trudged towards the alcove set aside for the commanding officer. Normally it was Danse’s, but the Paladin was on night watch while he was here, so Arthur was using the bed. He imagined Colleen on the mattress, fingernails digging into his back as he fucked her, and his cock hardened. Dammit, if she was in the bed…

            She wasn’t. She was staring moodily into a half-bottle of whiskey. “Every time I think I’m over University Point, some bastard has to come along and drag it back into the light.”

            “I’m sorry,” Arthur said sincerely.

            “To you, it’s a tragedy. To me, it’s a defining moment of my life.” She took a swig of whiskey. “I didn’t find Nathan’s body there, you know that? But I don’t know where he’s gone. When the going got tough, he got going. I hope he’s fucking digesting in a behemoth’s belly.”

            Arthur sat down beside her on the bed. “I was eight when I saw my mother’s head blown off by a traitor. My father died in battle when I was two. From the ages of ten to twenty, I lived in the Mojave Wasteland and fought Caesar’s Legion.”

            She gave him a sideways glance. “I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be. You’re not the only one here who’s the last of her kin.” He gently took the bottle from her hand and set it on the nightstand. “I don’t know why you have bad taste in men but I’m going to be grateful instead of questioning the gift.”

            Colleen’s fingers ghosted across the scars. “They hurt you,” she said gently.

            “Every day. Smiling too much hurts because the scar tissue drags on the flesh around my eyes and mouth.” Arthur sighed and leaned into the caress. “Deathclaw to the face when I was thirteen. I still can’t stand the beasts.”

            “They make good steaks,” she said absently, drawing patterns on his scarred cheek. “You just need to blow the legs off and then shoot them in the head.”

            “I killed it with a ripper and a lot of prayers,” he said gruffly. “Pissed my pants too.”

            “I bet _that_ bit didn’t go down in the reports.” Her fingers slid down his neck to the zip. Arthur pulled off his battlecoat and tossed it aside with a heavy thud.

            “No. They build legends around me because I’m the one thing that keeps East and West united.” The cool evening air hit his chest as Colleen unfastened his uniform slowly. When the zip reached its end, he tugged his arms out from the confining garment and took her face in his hands. “I admit to some personal ambition in this war with the Institute. When I win, I will be confirmed as High Elder, the ultimate leader of the Brotherhood. But I have no intentions of setting myself up as a tyrant in the Commonwealth – or anywhere else. The Prydwen is my personal base and the closest thing I’ve ever had to a home of my own.”

            “I’m relieved to hear that,” she said slowly. “When a man is too altruistic, there’s generally a hidden agenda. Personal ambition is something I trust.”

            Her skin was soft beneath his hands, her lips like hubflower petals under his thumbs. “Such a cynic,” he murmured.

            “The last altruists in the Commonwealth were betrayed and butchered at Quincy,” she said pitilessly.

            Arthur pressed a kiss to the soft mouth to silence that cynicism. She tasted of whiskey and a flat sweetness – bubble gum, maybe? Not Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. The Elder was certain Danse had found and devoured every last one of those on the East Coast.

            Colleen’s tongue met his unashamedly as he removed the tank top and leather jacket she wore, encountering a bandeau that kept her breasts confined. His hands convulsed and the rip of fabric was loud in the room. “I’ll replace it,” he promised hastily after breaking the kiss, seeing a frown on her face.

            “You better,” she said, the frown turning into a gasp as he tweaked her nipples with his thumbs, rolling them into hard nubs.

            “Beautiful,” he murmured, watching her delicate features change like clouds chasing across the sky. Her breasts were just the right size to fill his large hands, soft and a little saggy. She had borne a son… and lost him to the Institute.

            Arthur had never made love to a woman who’d given birth before. The marks on her belly were a wonder of texture to explore with hands and tongue, her nipples sensitive to the touch, and her hips delightfully curved. If she was as properly fed as a Brotherhood soldier, she would be gently rounded with that supple muscle underneath.

            She slid his uniform off until it fell to his knees, hands exploring the bulging swells and hard ridges of his muscles. Her tongue laved his nipple and he groaned, tugging down her pants and underwear. Thank the Steel she’d taken her boots off already.

            A finger slid between her legs confirmed that she was as wet as the sea. “Clit,” she gasped. “Fingers. Clit. _Now_.”

            “Your wish is my command, my Irish queen,” Arthur said huskily as he gently rolled her clit between his fingers.

            The noise she made as moisture drenched his hand was loud enough to be heard on the Prydwen, a litany of Irish that contained ‘fuck’ on several occasions. Arthur decided to take that as an invitation, tore off his underwear because it confined him, and hoisted her legs up by dint of resting her knees in the crook of his elbows. Open and vulnerable, she still looked powerful.

            He thrust into her, wet warmth surrounding his cock. How long had it been since he did this? Two years ago, during his farewell party in the Mojave, the one the Courier insisted on throwing him.

            Arthur much preferred Colleen spread out before him, her dark eyes demanding that he start fucking her before she extracted some kind of honour price, and began to fuck her into the mattress with hard snaps of his hips. Fuck she welcomed him easily, hips lifting and back arching, and he thought of that old Irish saying of “May the road rise to meet you.”

            Then instincts took over and he lost the capacity for coherent thought. The world contracted into the slash of flesh against flesh, Colleen’s enthusiastic moans as her fingernails dug into his shoulders, and the rising prickle in his balls that signalled an orgasm.

            When it came, he heard white noise and saw nothing but those eyes go soft, her body shuddering around his cock and milking it dry. Arthur returned to himself, gently draping his body over hers so that she wasn’t crushed, supporting his giant frame on his elbows after lowering her legs.

            Her hand caressed his scarred cheek once before she slipped into slumber. Arthur wasn’t long after her, savouring the warmth of a woman in his arms.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism with mentions of slavery, implied rape/non-con, forced pregnancy and child abuse/neglect. ‘Stride of pride’ comes from a meme I saw on Tumblr about Supergirl and Wonder Woman. Added rape/non-con and forced pregnancy tags because Caesar’s Legion is mentioned.

 

Colleen woke up to a behemoth of a male draped over her like a yao guai blanket, snoring like gravel being rolled in a steel drum. Arthur was as hairy as a yao guai too, his ash-brown hair mussed from the vigorous fucking last night. She shifted, trying to get a leg free, and his eyes popped open. They were blue. Vivid blue like pre-War plastic. His lips curved slightly, happily, the scowl almost non-existent.

            “Good morning,” he rasped.

            “Good morning,” she responded.

            “Do you want to do the walk of shame to the showers together?” he asked with a gentle smirk.

            “Arthur Maxson, it’s not a walk of shame, it’s a stride of pride,” she told him dryly.

            He lifted himself on his elbows. “Woman, you are truly something, you know that?”

            She managed to get her legs free and sat up. “Is there anywhere to the west you haven’t picked clean?” she asked. “I _have_ to make a salvage run.”

            “There’s Corvega, though I’ve heard it’s full of raiders,” Arthur answered with a worried frown.

            Colleen swore under her breath. “It’d take a two-man team to clear that place.”

            “That’s all I can think of,” he apologised. “Colleen, scavving on your own is dangerous. I know you’re good but…”

            “ _Life_ is dangerous, Arthur.” She stood up. “You’ve convinced me you’re benevolent. But I’m not joining your Brotherhood.”

            “I wouldn’t want you to.” When she threw him a look over her shoulder, his gaze was a little sad. “If you had to take orders from me, I think it would kill whatever’s between us.”

            “I don’t take orders well,” she admitted.

            “I noticed,” he said dryly. Then his expression sobered. “Colleen, if a child comes of last night, we’ll need to talk.”

            She glanced down at her belly. “If it happens, we will. I… just don’t want children at the moment. I’m sorry but…”

            “Losing Shaun must have been hard. The idea of _children_ in the hands of those bastards…”

            “Unless they found a way to make themselves immortal, they probably have children themselves,” she pointed out.

            “Unless they kidnap the children of settlers. That’s what Caesar’s Legion used to do – conquer and assimilate tribes or settlements they came across. They would murder the men too old to join, make the women breeding slaves and turn the boys into their soldiers.” Arthur’s gaze was now bleak. “Defeating them at the Second Battle of Hoover Dam as part of the Mojave Coalition was one of the greatest victories of my life.”

            “Sounds like some of the Nuka World Raiders,” Colleen said grimly. “That’s one of many reasons I don’t like to go west.”

            His lips peeled back in a snarl. “When the Institute is attended to, I might make some time to deal with those bastards. I saw what the Legion did and never again would I allow it to happen when I have the power to deal with it.”

            “They’re tricky and I hear their current Overboss is an ex-Gunner – organised mercenary outfit, the ones who killed the last of the Minutemen,” Colleen warned. “I’ll be careful, Arthur. I promise.”

            “I hope so,” he replied. “I…”

            Someone knocked on the door. “Elder, we need to return to the Prydwen,” Danse said loudly. “Lancer-Captain Kells has come across something you need to see.”

            Arthur sighed. “Duty calls,” he said. “I would… like it if you visited again.”

            She almost met his eyes. “I’ll see you again, I’m sure.”

…

Lexington was riddled with ghouls and Corvega, as rumour painted it, full of Raiders. Colleen snuck past the old town and reflected on the relative emptiness of the Western Commonwealth. More prone to radstorms from the Glowing Sea to the southwest, it was also too far away from the hubs of civilisation and trade towards the centre and east for people to feel easy settling here. As such, the vicious Nuka World Raiders dominated this part of the Wasteland and occasionally pushed past the Charles River in search of wealthy pickings.

            This was the furthest west she’d ever gone and Colleen felt the wildness of the land. Fiddlers Green was south a bit and once marked the westernmost settlement in the Commonwealth, just as Quincy was the southernmost border of the clan lands. Killians had ever held the borders of the land, allowing less hardy settlers to flourish in the interior.

            She’d left Cambridge with too many feelings. Arthur had bared his soul to her and the intimacy caused her to shy away. Oh, the sex had been _amazing_ but she feared the Elder wanted more than what she could give.

            She passed by a few Raider enclaves, inhabited by the laughably dressed and utterly vicious Pack or the sleek masked Disciples, and wondered how anyone dared to live here. Why couldn’t the Institute focus on this scum and leave the innocent Wastelanders alone?

            She found a few bits of salvage but was forced to press deeper. Somewhere near Concord, the northernmost settlement and former home of Seanascal Killian, she heard laser fire and the mocking laughter of Raiders. “Give it up, Garvey!” laughed one. “The Minutemen are dead and soon you will be too.”

            “While I breathe, the Minutemen live!” retorted an exhausted but proud man’s voice.

            “I’m going to use your hat for a shit pot!” taunted the same Raider.

            Colleen swore long and low under her breath. She could slip by; rumour painted a Vault in the north that should have useful parts. But a Minuteman. Alive! Maybe altruism wasn’t quite dead in the Commonwealth after all.

            She unslung her sniper rifle, loaded it, and fell into the stalking crouch of the clan kern fighter. If Garvey was a real Minuteman, he’d be familiar with the tactics laid down by Seanascal and passed down through the generations.

            She sighted along the barrel at the biggest Raider, a cage-armoured bastard who was thrusting his hips obscenely at the balcony of the Museum of Freedom, and trained the scope directly on his ugly head. One pull of the trigger and his head turned to red ruin.

            The other three Raiders spread out with the familiar tactics of animals in a pack, crude but effective, but Colleen had already slipped into the church and climbed the balcony. One. Two. Three. She killed them as they entered the church and then leapt lightly down from the balcony, landing on her feet as kerns were taught. She took their ammo, a secondary form of currency in the Commonwealth, and exited the church to scan the streets.

            “I don’t know who you are but please help us!” Garvey, a handsome black man with gaunt features and a pinned-up militia hat, begged from the balcony of the Museum. “There’s more Raiders inside.”

            Colleen sighed. Of course there was. And Garvey was probably the only fighter in a group of refugees from… wherever.

            Inside, there were seven Raiders. She managed to snipe two before the three others in the main hall teamed together in a knot and came down to deal with the wannabe saviour. Stupid of them to cluster so tightly because a Molotov cocktail set them alight, making them vulnerable to her laser rifle. The other two were pounding on the door to where the refugees were hiding, not noticing the frag grenade until it was too late. Had everyone forgotten the arts of the kern fighter? She knew the gallowglass tactics were practically lost in the Commonwealth, reportedly a free clan called the Cait Adamh the last practitioners. Dammit. She could use a walking tank like Danse at the moment.

            The door was flung open, Garvey holding his laser musket at the ready. “You better get inside before more of the bastards do,” he said, beckoning her closer.

            Colleen sighed and obeyed. Within the old office were five people – a Chinese couple, an old woman with faded blue eyes and the look of a Murphy about her, and a muscular dark-haired man checking a computer.

            “I don’t know who you are but your timing is impeccable,” Garvey observed with more than a little relief. “Lieutenant Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen, Colonel Hollis’ brigade.”

            “Colleen of the Fiddlers Green Killians,” she responded with equal formality. “I thought Hollis was lost at Quincy last year?”

            Garvey’s expression tightened. “He was. I was the highest-ranking officer to get out. A year ago, there were twenty of us. Last month, ten. And we lost three people since coming to Concord.”

            “If shit could go wrong, it did,” the mechanic sighed in a Deep Southron accent. “Kern?”

            “Of course. I’m a Killian,” she said dryly.

            He managed a weak chuckle. “I’m Sturges. Had some gallowglass trainin’ myself. There’s an old set of power armour on the roof and a fusion core in the basement. If you can get me the latter, me and you can take out the rest of Gristle’s gang with Preston as fire support.”

            Colleen laughed a little unwillingly. “I was wishing we had a gallowglass myself. Be careful what you wish for because the Lord might provide.”

            Preston smiled faintly. “Thank you, Lady Killian. It’s been hell since Quincy and you’re the first sign of hope we’ve had in months.”

            Colleen reloaded her sniper rifle and laser rifle. “Well, you’re the first sign of altruism I’ve seen in a while. Let’s send these bastards to the devil for dinner.”

            The Minuteman grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

…

Another ten Raiders attacked. And so did a deathclaw. Colleen used up all her grenades, cocktails and ammo taking the Raiders out as Sturges went toe-to-toe with the giant predator, proving that he had more than ‘some’ gallowglass training. Preston cranked up his laser musket to maximum and blasted the creature’s head to ash, saving the day for everyone.

            When it was over, Preston was getting a wound bandaged by Mama Murphy as Colleen and Sturges entered the Museum’s foyer. “The way’s clear to Sanctuary,” the old woman told him.

            “Go raibh míle maith an Tiarna,” Preston breathed. “We live another day.”

            “Amen,” Sturges said, clanking up to the Minuteman. “We should go before Corvega sends more scum.”

            “Agreed.” He chivvied the couple to their feet, the woman glaring at Colleen while the man stared blankly ahead.

            “Where were the fucking Killians at Quincy?” she demanded.

            “Dead.” Colleen held the woman’s dark gaze. “Fiddlers Green too. I’m the last.”

            “Just as we are the last of Quincy,” Preston said softly. “You didn’t have to help us but you did.”

            Colleen smiled wryly. “Couldn’t let the last Minuteman in the Commonwealth die now, could I?”

            Mama Murphy chuckled. “Oh, Preston was the last and now he’s the first once again. The bright heart of Diamond City, the clarion of truth in the wilderness, even the lantern in the dark, the prince of ghouls, the king of steel and his sentinel, the healer in the Vault, and the war-red Killian have their part to play… Queen of Shamrocks.”

            “Lovely. She’s stoned out of her gourd again,” muttered the Chinese woman.

            “Sight ain’t been wrong yet,” Sturges said laconically. “Can we get going?”

            “Yes, it’s always best to move forward,” Mama Murphy agreed. “Forward from a past you’ve forgotten, forward from the griefs that bind you.”

            “Come on, Mama, let’s go.” Preston leaned on Sturges’ armoured forearm. “You can prophesise later.”

            Sanctuary turned out to be a substantial pre-War settlement with only a battered Mr Handy tending long-dead privet hedges. The dingy white robot rotated and said gleefully, “Mum, you’ve brought guests! I trust your business in the south went well?”

            “I don’t know who the hell you are, robot, but I’m not who you think I am,” Colleen informed him. “I am Colleen of the Fiddlers Green Killians.”

            His eye-stalks drooped. “Oh. But you look rather like Miss Gealbhan from a distance.”

            “Seanascal’s daughter?” Preston asked in astonishment.

            “Yes!” The Mr Handy sighed. “Well, mo theach a bheith mise. If Miss Gealbhan or even that wretched Master Nate were here, they’d welcome you as clan. I _do_ hope they found young Shaun.”

            “My Nathan was a bit of a bastard,” Colleen observed as the robot opened the door to a relatively intact house. “And my son was called Shaun.”

            “It must go with the territory,” the robot said. “I am Codsworth. I’m terribly sorry that the only food available is broiled roach and pumpkin mash at the moment. I might go rummage through the neighbours’ houses as they haven’t come back and there’s no use wasting food.”

            “Radroach and gourd would be a feast,” Preston said fervently. “Do you need any help?”

            “I, good sir, am the finest creation of General Atomics!” Codsworth said proudly. “You put your feet up and let me do the work. It’s _such_ a pleasure to have a Killian to serve again, even if she isn’t mine. Though if you’ll pardon me saying, Miss Colleen, the resemblance is uncanny. If you had patches of synth-skin and scars, you’d be a dead ringer for Miss Gealbhan.”

            Colleen helped Preston right a few chairs and a lounge as the robot prepared food. “I’m as startled as you are, Mr Codsworth. The resemblances to her life and mine are… striking.”

            “I don’t doubt.” The Mr Handy hummed cheerfully. “There’s a cache of Killian Black in the cellar.”

            “A safe place with plenty of materials to build proper defences, a Mr Handy to help us and a cache of Killian Black?” Preston asked with a laugh. “I’m beginning to wonder if we didn’t die and go to Heaven.”

            “Wait until you taste my cooking,” Codsworth announced.

            “I look forward to it.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism. Because my Arthur’s about ten years older than canon, he has a greater grasp of nuance.
> 
> …

 

“By the Steel,” Arthur breathed.

            “For a group of unethical scientists with a fetish for creating unnatural abominations, they decidedly lack imagination,” Proctor Quinlan observed blandly as he examined the dead lanky Gen-3 synth who looked like him. “If I were in the Institute, I would send in two or three generic synths as Initiates and have them rise through the ranks.”

            “But that would mean allowing their creations an autonomy which could lead to rebellion,” Lancer-Captain Kells noted. “If synths are artificial intelligence as opposed to virtual intelligence, I almost pity them. To have free will and be made for the purposes of being a slave…”

            Arthur grimaced. “It’s an ethical question best left to the Scribes, Kells. Our job is to stop these things from terrorising the Commonwealth.”

            “Agreed.” Kells saluted. “Gridley’s at the helm unsupervised. I better go make sure he isn’t fucking things up.”

            “I love your confidence in your own staff,” Quinlan said dryly. “Arthur, I’ll get Cade and Neriah to autopsy this thing.”

            “Of course. When it’s done, cremate the remains.” Arthur sighed heavily. “Even synths deserve that much dignity.”

            “I’d argue the point, Elder, but as you will.” Quinlan nodded sharply and followed Kells out of the room, no doubt to fetch a burly Initiate or two.

            “They’re lacking in military tactics, aren’t they?” Danse said as he studied the synth. If it hadn’t been for a sharp-eyed Initiate who’d just run an errand to Quinlan, they would have lost one of the Brotherhood’s greatest minds.

            “Yes,” Arthur agreed. “I fear them ever learning some.”

            “Is that possible?”

            “I must assume so.” The Elder pinched his nose. “Any word from Corvega?”

            “None. I’m assuming that Colleen is too smart to engage the Raiders there.”

            “I hope so. I should never have-“ Arthur cut himself off. “She’s not a woman to be commanded or kept safe, I think.”

            “She’s a survivor, Elder Maxson. I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Thankfully Danse had said nothing about the night he spent with the clanswoman. Arthur wasn’t sure about how he’d react to any criticism.

            “I have a mission for you and Recon Squad Gladius,” he finally said. “I need you to start scouting the edges of the Glowing Sea. If Quinlan’s right, we may need what’s in that hellhole for Project Liberty.”

            Danse’s mouth tightened. “I trust we can take Rad-X and RadAway supplies?”

            “Of course. I’m also having your power armour and everyone’s uniforms lined with lead.” Arthur’s mouth quirked slightly. “I’d hate to lose you to the rads. But there’s no one else with the survivability of your team.”

            Danse nodded tightly. “Of course, Elder. What are we looking for?”

            “Something called the Sentinel site. It’s a nuke storage facility.” Arthur looked up at the slightly taller Danse. “It’s not coincidental I’m sending you there. Pull this off and I should be able to make you Sentinel. I need one and you’re the best there is.”

            A thick eyebrow shot up. “Making a Wastelander Sentinel. That’s going to ruffle feathers back West.”

            “Let them.” Arthur’s eyes glinted. “I haven’t forgiven or forgotten the infighting that killed my mother. My grandchildren will be Squires before I’m inclined to trust the NCR families.”

            Danse nodded. “Understood, Elder. When we will go?”

            “Next week. You’re at liberty then.” Arthur smiled a little. “Enjoy it.”

            “Is that an order?”

            “If you need an order to enjoy yourself, Danse, then you definitely need some leave.”

…

“Colleen, can we talk?”

            Whenever a man said that, she felt rather nervous. But she nodded at Preston and took a seat at the table they’d scavenged from the house across the street from the Finlays’ old home. There was some discussion between the Quincy survivors on whether they should tear down the remaining buildings to make their own or live in the relatively intact places. Either way, there wasn’t enough people for either course, so they settled for living in the Rosas’ house and socialising in Gealbhan Killian’s own pre-War abode.

            “Just before Quincy, we got word from Tenpines Bluff about Raiders at Corvega, the main gang from which the one in Concord hails,” the Minuteman said as he nursed a cup of hubflower tea. A few days of food and rest had improved Garvey’s appearance tenfold. “But the Gunners killed most of Hollis’ brigade, so… yeah.”

            “It’d take at least a two-man kern team to clear Corvega and I’d prefer twice that number or a gallowglass,” she replied. “You’re a good sniper, Preston, but you’re no kern. And you’re _definitely_ not a gallowglass.”

            His sepia-toned mouth quirked wryly. “I’d look ridiculous in power armour.”

            “Indeed.” Colleen drank some purified water from a pump installed by Sturges two days ago. “The further south you go, the more prominent the Nuka World Raiders get. I’m a little surprised that they haven’t attacked the Raiders at Corvega…”

            “That lot are a different kind of mean,” Preston agreed. “If we expand the Minutemen, sooner or later we’re going to conflict with them.”

            Colleen leaned back in her seat. “How flexible are you about tactics? I’ve got an idea or three that might soften both sides up – if we set them against each other.”

            He grimaced. “That’s a nasty tactic.”

            “But they’re nasty people. The problem is that there’s still civilians this side of the Charles…” She sighed. “Our other option is to call in the Brotherhood of Steel and give them Corvega. Maxson’s hard but fair and he’s got no interest in ruling the Commonwealth.”

            “I saw that blimp. So what’s he doing here then?”

            “The Institute sent replacer-synths after him and for some reason, the Brotherhood holds a grudge.” Her mouth curved mirthlessly. “They also have some creed about finding and preserving technology. I know they share crops in return for thirty percent of the harvest and plan to set up a chapter here. More than that, I’m not sure.”

            Preston sighed explosively. “Hell of a choice. I’d rather see if we can win a few settlements to our side before taking on Corvega. I don’t mind meeting the new neighbours, but I’d rather do it from a position of strength. ‘Offer one hand-‘”

            “’-And keep the other on your gun’.” Colleen finished the old clan proverb. “Maxson’s personal ambitions are with leading the Brotherhood and defeating the Institute. He’s as crazy as he is handsome but he’s got the gallowglasses to pull it off.”

            “I’m guessing you know him pretty well,” Preston observed dryly.

            “Yes, we slept together. What of it?”

            “It’s nothing to me. You strike me as a woman of discerning taste.” Preston leaned forward intently. “I know you’re not a Minuteman – yet – but Mama Murphy’s knotted you in with the rest of us. I’m betting the bright heart of Diamond City is Nick Valentine and the clarion of truth in the wilderness is the reporter Piper Wright.”

            “I was suspecting that too. The King of Steel is Arthur Maxson. As for his sentinel, it might be Paladin Danse. The prince of ghouls might be John Hancock of Goodneighbour or someone else. As for the healer in the Vault, the war-red Killian or the lantern in the dark, damned if I know.” She drank some more water. “Has anyone gone over to that farm across the river?”

            “The Abernathies? Yeah, already been there. They want us to retrieve a locket of their dead daughter’s from that Air Force base near Tenpines. _Another_ subsidiary gang of the Corvega lot.”

            Colleen finished her water. “Then let’s start there.”

…

“The first rule of cliste warfare – the war of the clever – is to divide your enemy into manageable pieces and deal with them accordingly.” Colleen leaned across the table and looked at Preston, Sturges and Codsworth. “We are outnumbered and outgunned. The Nuka World Raiders hold most of the settlements and Corvega dominates the rest but for us and Abernathy Farm.”

            “And they won’t give us allegiance until we retrieve Mary’s locket,” Preston observed with a sigh. The clanswoman had a knack for laying out the problem clearly. “So we might as well start with Olivia, make contact with Tenpines and work from there.”

            “Precisely.” She nodded to Sturges and Codsworth. “You two are the Garda Bhaile, the Home Guard. To you falls the defence of Sanctuary.”

            “Understood, Miss Colleen,” the Mr Handy said. “Master Sturges and I are capable of holding our own.”

            “I know. A gallowglass is worth ten kerns in open warfare.” She smiled at Sturges. “Fix up that armour. When I see the Brotherhood next, I’ll see if Danse has any improvements you could make.”

            “Got it.” The mechanic grinned back at her. “You’re definitely a Killian, woman.”

            “So everyone tells me.”

            Preston chuckled. “I suppose I’m going to get a few lessons in kern warfare.”

            “Mo Dhia, no! You’re too honest to make a good kern.” Colleen flashed a wry smile. “You’ll be An Dara, the Second. Recruitment, organisation…”

            “Does that make you An Ginearálta?” he countered. “Because honestly, Colleen, I’m not a great leader.”

            “What makes you think I’d be?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

            “Because you’re a Killian and that name means something still. Because the way Mama Murphy talked, you’re the only one who this Maxson will treat as an equal.” Preston shrugged. “I can’t make you call yourself General. But you’ve stepped in and taken charge.”

            “Only because I know the tactics and leaving you lot to fend for yourselves…” The clanswoman shook her head. “I can be a selfish cynical bitch but that’s a bit much even by my standards.”

            “Seanascal was a prick but he founded the Minutemen,” Preston pointed out. “You’re a hell of a lot nicer than him.”

            “I wouldn’t call Master Seanascal a ‘prick’,” Codsworth said defensively. “He was, ah, _pragmatic_.”

            “Hollis trained under him and said he was the biggest prick this side of the Charles River,” Preston said dryly.

            “Don’t hold back, Preston, tell us how you really feel,” Collen said, startled into laughter. “Fine, call me General. When we get a real leader, I’ll go back to salvaging.”

            _I don’t think you’ll be salvaging anytime soon,_ the Minuteman thought. _Unless it’s the Commonwealth itself._

…

“Ugh. That was almost too easy.”

            Colleen fished the silver locket with its faded pre-War portrait out from the toolbox of loot the Raiders had kept, tucking it into her beltpouch for safekeeping. Most of what Ack-Ack’s lot had taken wasn’t even fit to be salvaged, which said volumes about the Raiders and the prospects in the west. The mini-gun and the military hardware were about it.

            “Corvega will give us trouble,” Preston pointed out.

            “I’m not taking on Corvega with anything less than a four-man team of kerns or a couple gallowglasses,” she shot back. “That place is twisty and dangerous.”

            “Yeah.” The Minuteman watched her reach for some bottles of paint she’d brought along. “What are you doing?”

            “Cliste warfare,” she explained, carefully daubing the sign of the Disciples over Ack-Ack’s corpse. “If Corvega and Nuka World go to war, we can quietly consolidate ourselves under their noses. A tricky Gunner like the new Overboss won’t ignore a challenge like Corvega’s response to this and everyone else still believes the Minutemen are dead.”

            “Someone like the Overboss will take it out on the settlement,” Preston countered.

            “I know. That’s why I’m bringing Wade and Anna to Sanctuary. Tenpines Bluff can’t survive on its own.”

            “Do you think they’ll listen?”

            “If they want to live, they will.”

            The settlers at Tenpines Bluff went pale when Colleen calmly informed them of their chances of survival. Then the couple grabbed their belongings, stripped their tato crop bare and set fire to the rest. It seemed the people out west were used to moving.

            Blake Abernathy welcomed the locket’s return with tears of joy. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you so much!”

            “You’ll support the Minutemen then?” Colleen asked.

            “Yes, General, I will.” He snapped a military salute. “Granddad was one and I still have his old laser musket.”

            “Then I want you and your family at Sanctuary at least twice a week for combat training,” Colleen answered. “I want everyone able to handle a weapon competently.”

            Blake nodded. “That makes sense. Look, I have a few gourd seeds. Could Sanctuary use those?”

            “Yes,” Preston said eagerly. “We’ve gotten two more settlers and who knows what else blew in during our absence.”

            “Trashcan Carla,” Blake said. “She’s a trader who works the route between here and Drumlin’s Diner.”

            “Brave of her,” Colleen observed dryly.

            “We’re a tough lot out here. Not like those Easterners who…” Blake trailed off as he realised _she_ came from the east.

            “We Easterners are tough and have our share of problems. I was also born at Fiddlers Green.”

            “She’s the last of the Killians,” Preston added – most unnecessarily.

            “Gealbhan died then?” Blake asked. “She and that bastard husband of hers came through looking for their son.”

            “I’m the last of the Wasteland Killians,” she said quietly. “Not the Vault ones. I haven’t heard a damn thing about them.”

            Blake nodded again. “Aye. I remember that poor scared thing. That Nate… He was a real piece of work. I think…”

            The farmer paused thoughtfully. “I think he might be the new Overboss. We had a couple Pack come through here a few months ago. They’re arseholes but easy to please if you grovel enough. One of them said that the new Overboss knew how to make war like the pre-War soldiers did. I recall Nate giving off a real soldier vibe and he _was_ pre-War.”

            “Shit.” Colleen allowed herself a vivid curse. “Preston, once we’ve sorted Sanctuary’s defences, we need to go south and speak to the Brotherhood. I remember Paladin Danse telling me that they were born out of the old American military and that their base in the Capital Wasteland was the greatest fortress of its day. If anything survived about this Nate character or even Gealbhan…”

            “We should check in with Oberland Station and Graygardens,” Preston agreed. “Four settlements on both sides of the river…”

            “You’ll have the support to retake the Castle,” Blake finished with a grin.

            Even Colleen knew about the Castle. The home of the Minutemen. “Why don’t we skip the two settlements and retake the Castle directly?” she suggested. “It’s full of mirelurks but give me enough materials and I can blow them sky-high.”

            “It needs to be a concerted effort,” Preston said. “And the people of the Commonwealth need to know they can fight for themselves again, General.”

            “I don’t want to get a bunch of Garda Bhaile killed because they felt the need to be heroes,” she retorted. “If we can train up Blake’s family to support Sanctuary, you, me, Sturges as gallowglass and Codsworth can take the Castle.”

            “She’s the General,” Blake said dryly. “We might be able to hold off some Raiders, clear out a few more. If we can secure Trashcan Carla’s route, we’ll have at least two more settlement sites.”

            “Hold your horses, Abernathy,” she advised. “I’m trying to set our two resident factions of Raiders against each other so _they_ do the job of softening themselves up.”

            Blake stared at her. “Mo Dhia, woman, you are Seanascal come again.”

            “I hope not,” she said wryly. “I’m far too pretty to be a ghoul.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence and fantastic racism.

 

“We won’t go short of meat this winter,” Preston noted as he shucked the dead mirelurks from their shells, which could be dried and ground for fertiliser, and soaked them in a solution meant to pickle it.

            “And we got some practice in,” Colleen agreed. “So we have the Western Commonwealth’s breadbasket in our pocket.”

            “That we do,” the Minuteman grinned. “Now what?”

            “The Castle.” She nodded to the soaking mirelurks. “We might stop by Cambridge and give some to the Brotherhood as a gift. I know that they’re short of fresh food even with the seed crops they’ve given the settlements nearest to them.”

            “It _would_ be the neighbourly thing to do,” Preston said. “I want Graygardens confirmed though. We can throw in some mutfruit for scurvy.”

            “Done.”

            Overseer White welcomed them with open… appendages. “The water’s perfect, darlings,” she announced in her sultry voice. “And your Sturges has been rather handy in building up defences.”

            “That’s good to know,” Preston said with a faint smile. “We can’t let your complexion be ruined by something so trivial as irradiated water.”

            “Oh, hush you,” White giggled. “You will have your fruit and water.”

            “Thank you,” Preston told her. “Could we take some mutfruit with us? We’ve got a group of soldiers over in Cambridge who could use fresh food.”

            “Of course. Anything to support our troops.” She giggled once again.

            “We should introduce you to Codsworth,” Colleen observed. “He’s a rather handsome Sassenach gentleman with impeccable manners.”

            “Oh, darling, don’t worry about me. Green and Brown keep me company.” White fluttered her eye-orbs at Colleen. “It was a lovely thought though.”

            Preston looked up at the sky. “We better get going if we’re going to reach Cambridge by dark.”

            They made their farewells and laden with fresh food, they crossed the bridge to the ghoul-free section of Cambridge that the Brotherhood controlled. Knight Haines was on gate duty again and she raised a gauntleted fist. “Lady Colleen,” the woman greeted. “Elder Maxson left orders to allow you hospitality if you need it.”

            “Good thing I brought bronntanas aoi, the guest gift, then,” she called up to the Knight. “I’ve got some fresh mutfruit and pickling mirelurk.”

            “Praise the Steel,” the Knight said, stepping off the barricade to land in front of them. “Danse and Recon Squad Gladius have a mission ahead of them, so we might as well send them off with a feast.”

            “You weren’t kidding when you said the Brotherhood had gallowglasses,” Preston observed quietly.

            “Power-armoured troops,” Colleen explained to Haines. “The gentlemen with me are Colonel Preston Garvey, An Dara of the Minutemen, and Captain Sturges, chief gallowglass and technical officer.”

            “’Colonel’?” Preston asked under his breath.

            “If I’m a bloody General, you’re a bloody Colonel and Sturges is a bloody Captain,” she muttered in reply.

            “T-45,” Haines noted professionally. “Solid mods.”

            “I used to have a sweet T-51b but had to leave it behind at Quincy,” Sturges answered.

            Haines opened the gate. “’General’?”

            “I ran into the Minutemen at Concord and they decided I should be the General,” Colleen said wryly.

            “We have three settlements as allies thanks to her,” Preston said with a grin. “Don’t let Colleen fool you – she’s a born General.”

            “I heard what she did at Fort Strong,” Haines said, opening the gate. “Elder Maxson treats her like an equal. I can see why now.”

            “They, uh, know,” Colleen told her. “Made sense to tell my, ah, senior staff.”

            “I’m surprised they didn’t hear you up on the Prydwen,” Haines said blandly.

            Inside the compound, Rhys was drilling a group of Initiates, barking orders like a Sergeant. Or Knight-Sergeant in his case. “I see the West didn’t eat you,” the shaven-headed man observed curtly.

            “That’s the General of the Minutemen you’re talking to, Knight-Sergeant,” Haines informed him. “And she’s brought food.”

            “Tell it to Top. He’s been like a yao guai with a sore tooth because the Elder put him on leave.” Rhys turned back to his Initiates.

            “I see he’s found his natural calling,” Colleen said dryly as he finished reading the Initiates a lecture on their various genetic and sexual failings.

            “He’s a prick, to quote Maxson, but he’s _our_ prick,” Haines agreed.

            Danse was out of his armour and trying to take some paperwork from a Scribe. “Just let me sign off,” he was saying.

            “You’re on leave,” the Scribe said primly. “That includes paperwork.”

            Danse’s muttered response involved a few Irish words that had the Minutemen grinning as he turned around. Then he blushed to the roots of his hair. “Apologies, Lady Colleen-“

            “I’ve used worse after stubbing a toe,” she said wryly. “We come bearing gifts.”

            “Praise the Steel,” Danse said fervently. “Elder Maxson’s been asking after you every day.”

            “I wound up getting tangled up with the Minutemen back west,” she told him. “Next thing I know, Preston and Sturges decide I’m the General.”

            “A friendly local militia would certainly help our efforts here,” Danse agreed. “And after Fort Strong, I believe you’ll be a good General.”

            Colleen rubbed the back of her neck. “Don’t touch the mirelurk for at least three days because it’s pickling. The mutfruit is good to go though.”

            “Thanks.” Danse studied a work-worn hand. “What’s next on your agenda?”

            “Retaking the Minutemen’s old base,” she told him. “Tell me you haven’t stripped Fort Independence just outside of Boston.”

            “Not to my knowledge, we haven’t.” Danse tilted his head. “How defensible is it?”

            “Damned if I know. Place’s overrun by mirelurks so we might have some more seafood for you.”

            Danse glanced around at where the Scribe was writing things down and whispered, “Take me with you. I’m going insane around here with nothing to do and Elder Maxson’s not letting me on the Prydwen because I’ll start drilling Squires or something.”

            Preston’s eyebrow arched. “And how are you going to clear it with your superiors, soldier?”

            “Hunting trip.” Danse actually cracked something resembling a smile. “I can borrow a set of power armour from the stores here because mine’s getting modded for a long-haul mission.”

            Collen pursed her lips. “Get Maxson on the radio. I might be able to swing something.”

…

“Elder Maxson! There’s a General Killian on the radio for you!” Lancer-Sergeant Gridley, Kells’ second and communications officer, yelled from the doorway.

            _General Killian?_ The only General Killian he knew of was the ghoul Seanascal. Had the Commonwealth folk hero emerged from the depths of wherever ghouls lived to middle? “On my way.”

            The communications board was to the right of the Prydwen’s bridge, presided over by Lancer-Initiate Long, a scrawny adolescent from the south Commonwealth. “I dunno her personally, sir, but I know Preston Garvey,” the youth informed Arthur. “He was one of the Minutemen who came to defend m’town from Gunners.”

            “You’re from Quincy?” Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow.

            “Yeah. Was why I volunteered. Maybe me folks are alive.” Long punched in a few keys. “She’s clan. Fiddlers Green Killian-“

            “Here I am worrying about sending you into danger and you come back a General,” he said, grabbing the receiver before Long could finish.

            “I got volunteered for the job,” Colleen said with wry amusement. “I just dropped off some food at the Cambridge base and would like to formally borrow Paladin Danse for a mission that will benefit us both.”

            “Danse has a long-distance mission in a few days,” Arthur said.

            “He’s also driving everyone up the wall at Cambridge,” she replied dryly. “Barring any, ah, complications, it’ll be the reclamation of the Castle from a horde of mirelurks. I’ll even split the seafood with you.”

            Arthur rubbed his bearded chin. “Procurement mission?”

            “For you. For us, it’ll be getting our old base and radio towers back.” A calm, pleasant masculine voice spoke. “Colonel Preston Garvey at your service. The General says you want to be good neighbours with us. Well, we’d like to borrow a gallowglass or two. We have one of our own but there’s at least one mirelurk queen there.”

            “Please.” Now Danse spoke. “Elder, I’ll obey your orders but I don’t like being out of armour and sitting around doing nothing.”

            Arthur pursed his lips. “How powerful are the radio towers?”

            “Capable of reaching the entire Commonwealth,” Preston replied. “We could probably build a dedicated one for the Brotherhood to piggyback on. Our gallowglass Sturges-“

            “ _Captain_ Sturges,” a man with a Southern accent drawled.

            “-Is also our technical officer,” Preston finished, laughter in his voice. “A kern, a sniper and two gallowglasses. The General says that’s enough to take the base as she doesn’t want to risk any of the Garda Bhaile, the Home Guard, we’ve raised.”

            “Minimum Brotherhood presence on a procurement is a vertibird, a Lancer and two power-armoured soldiers,” Arthur said slowly as Kells, who’d been overhearing, began to narrow his eyes. “The Brotherhood owes you for Fort Strong, Colleen. You’ll be getting Danse… and myself.”

            “It’d be good to see you again, Arthur, but can the Brotherhood spare you?” Colleen asked.

            “Danse isn’t the only one going stir-crazy.” He sighed. “I’ll bring two Knights with me. That’s all a vertibird can hold and the Elder’s supposed to have a retinue of three minimum.”

            “If your senior staff don’t have a fit over the matter, you’ll be welcome,” she replied.

            “We’re not happy, General, but the Elder will do what he wants,” Kells announced sourly. “Where is this ‘Castle’?”

            “It’s Fort Independence near the old Gwinett Brewery,” Preston replied. “ _Please_ tell me you haven’t stripped it for parts like the General says you do.”

            “We haven’t,” Arthur said reassuringly.

            “Good. I know you’ve got your mission and all but taking the resources from the Commonwealth, no matter how altruistic the reason, won’t win you friends,” the Minuteman pointed out. “But we can talk about that later. When do you want to do this?”

            “Tomorrow at the latest,” Arthur answered. “I think we should strafe the mirelurk nest with the vertibird’s machine gun first before proceeding on foot. I’m sure your Castle can withstand a few bullets.”

            “Nothing a bit of concrete can’t fix.” There was some indistinct murmuring over the channel. “General’s good with it. Would’ve liked to have Codsworth with us but if we’ve got two or three gallowglasses, a Mr Handy would be superfluous.”

            “Agreed. And if anything happens to us, Codsworth’s got the protocols and Blake Abernathy’s solid enough to take command of the Garda Bhaile,” Colleen added. “This is appreciated, Arthur.”

            “We owe you for Fort Strong. Besides,” his voice softened, “It would be good to see you again.”

            “Yes. You owe me a new bra.”

            Arthur blushed as Kells’ eyebrows hit his hairline. He’d forgotten that. “I’ll, uh, check the stores,” he coughed. “Do you want just a bra or an entire set?”

            “Mo Dhia,” Long muttered. “Did the General and the Elder get it on?”

            “Apparently,” Kells said dryly.

            “Just the bra.” Colleen paused. “Unless the set’s lacy. Lingerie’s always a good choice with women.”

            “Brotherhood stores don’t have anything lacy,” Kells said hastily.

            “And if I ask Proctor Teagan to acquire some, he’ll want to know which Brotherhood lady of good birth I’m courting,” Arthur said sourly. “Which, of course, will turn political and… Ah, never mind. I’ll bring you something tomorrow, Colleen.”

            “Bless you, Arthur. And tell the man in the background to look at it this way: I’m teaching you how to make your future Queen Guinevere a happy woman so she doesn’t go looking for a Lancelot.” Colleen chuckled richly over the radio. “May the road rise to meet you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

            “Ad Victoriam, Colleen.” Arthur nodded to Long, who ended the transmission.

            “I suppose a militia General’s a suitable temporary companion,” Kells finally said. “She sounds rather formidable.”

            “She’s a kern fighter from the closest thing to royalty the Commonwealth had,” Arthur informed him. “And she lost her son to the Institute.”

            Kells’ brown gaze was compassionate. “You don’t need to justify your actions to me, Elder Maxson. Sarah Lyons married the Lone Wanderer and Jamie Jamison was one of the best Sentinels we ever had. I just hope you understand that between her responsibilities and yours, this _must_ be a short-term thing. Enjoy yourself and be her friend. But don’t fall in love.”

            His advice was meant well but it still stung to acknowledge that Kells was right. “I know, Lancer-Captain. She’s the closest thing to an equal here. For the sake of diplomacy and friendship, I’m treating her as one.”

            “Of course.” Kells saluted. “I’ll go see who’s available tomorrow. I’m not entirely happy about you risking yourself but the gains appear to outweigh the risk. Ad Victoriam, Elder.”

            “Ad Victoriam, Kells.” Arthur returned the salute and watched the Lancer-Captain leave. Kells was right, damn him. And Arthur hated it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for death, violence, misogyny and mentions of criminal activity and drug use. If the battle seems fairly curbstompy to you, it’s because these characters are all mid-to-high level with a lot of perks in this AU. Also, going AU with the fate of the Longs’ son – if you already hadn’t noticed.

 

“An impressive fortification.”

            Colleen had to agree with Arthur. Forty years of mirelurk squatting hadn’t ruined the Castle’s structure overmuch, though they’d need a few tonnes of concrete to rebuild the eroded walls. She was surprised with how easily she stepped into the role of General, making grand plans for a future and trusting that Preston could carry them out. “It was pre-War like your Citadel,” she said.

            “Well, it was built to last. Repairing the walls shouldn’t be too much of a problem.” Arthur squinted at a tangled mass of metal on one round section of the wall. “Anti-aircraft artillery. Or what’s left of it.”

            “We used to rain hell on nests of ferals, super mutants and Raiders,” Preston confirmed. “It’d be good to have that sort of firepower again. Uh, not because you have a big balloon in the sky, sir.”

            “Of course not,” Arthur said blandly.

            “But I’m sure the Minutemen’s supporters would feel comfortable knowing that you could bring down the Prydwen,” Danse observed calmly. “In your situation, _I_ would.”

            “I don’t give a rat’s arse why they’d be happy to see us with artillery, so long as they support us,” Colleen said pragmatically. “Could one of you gentlemen please give the seafood a machine-gun hello?”

            Arthur chuckled deep under his helmet. “It will be my pleasure, General.”

            The Lancer brought the vertibird around to bear as the Elder strafed the mirelurks. “We can stay in place for two minutes at most,” he warned. “Elder, I also hate to be that asshole, but we might attract unwanted attention from Raiders or Gunners.”

            “Understood, Long,” Arthur rasped over the rat-a-tat of the machine-gun. “Stay alert, people.”

            “Tell me how to cook my grandma’s mirelurk stew, why don’t’cha?” Sturges smirked as he put his helmet on, locking it into place.

            “You promised me a bowl of that,” Preston said, cranking up his laser musket. “We should have enough mirelurk to make some today.”

            The Lancer stiffened as the two spoke but did an admirable job of keeping the vertibird steady. Interesting – Long’s accent was Southron Commonwealth. “Bringing the vertibird into place for the first drop, Elder,” he warned. “Ready, Paladin?”

            “It will be my distinct pleasure,” Danse replied eagerly.

            Danse simply stepped out of the vertibird and landed on two mirelurks, the explosive shockwave scattering the rest. The scarlet blaze of his laser made short work of two more. “Landing point acquired,” he growled over the radio.

            “I want me them boot-mods,” Sturges breathed.

            The second vertibird, piloted by Arthur’s usual Lancer Proud and holding Knights Haines and Rhys, came around to strafe the nests on the walls. “I’ll provide air support,” Proud said over the radio. “Ad Victoriam, Elder!”

            The problem after that wasn’t to kill the mirelurks, it was the matter of killing mirelurks in such a way that they were intact enough to be eaten afterwards. In the end, the gallowglasses wound up punching them in the face while the snipers shot them in the head. Then the mirelurk queen arrived and Colleen heard the screech of Arthur’s armoured fists clenching in anticipation.

            “Finally,” he said. “A challenge.”

            Then he launched himself at the beast with ripper in hand.

            Danse’s use of Latin left much to be desired if one wanted polite language from him as he went to flank the ugly creature.

            Colleen and Preston focused their attention on the queen’s head. Men would be men and the gallowglasses were power-armoured.

            It was here that Danse showed his phenomenal strength. Not many men could lift a queen mirelurk from behind so the Elder could gut it with the ripper.

            “Holy _shit_ ,” Sturges breathed. “That man on Buffout or somethin’?”

            “Nope,” Haines said, limping up to them. “Danse’s that freakishly strong and the Elder’s not much weaker. They have to spar with each other because anyone else would wind up with broken bones.”

            “Well, I’m glad you’re on our side,” Preston said, cranking up his musket. “One more shot should do it-“

            Colleen’s laser put the mirelurk queen out of its misery as Arthur tore his ripper from its guts, stepping aside so Danse could drop the carcass. The two Lancers landed their vertibirds inside the walls and exited.

            “Well, that’s the most fun I’ve had since I infiltrated HELIOS-1 with a ghoul vaquero,” Arthur said with a crooked smile as he pulled off his helmet.

            “We aren’t mentioning this to Kells,” Danse groused, doing the same. “He’d nail all of us to the Prydwen’s prow.”

            “Amen,” Lancer Long agreed fervently.

            “What’s a vaquero?” Preston asked curiously.

            “Brahmin rustler, I think. Raul retired after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam,” Arthur replied. “We should make sure of the nests and secure the Castle. Then I’d like to try Sturges’ grandma’s stew.”

            “Who says I was gonna make it for you, Maxson?” Sturges grinned.

            “I do,” Colleen informed him. “General’s orders.”

            The Southroner mock-sighed. “ _Fine_ , General. Let’s just clean up this mess first.”

            Colleen shared a smile with Arthur. The victory made her giddy with something she’d never considered before – hope.

…

“Nisha, love, I agree with your sentiment that the Raiders out of Corvega need to die but could you have checked with me _before_ killing a few?” Nate Finlay asked mildly as he leaned against the wall in the Disciples’ territory. “Nuka World’s not quite under control and I wanted it firmly sorted before I paid Jared a little visit.”

            Nisha’s brown eyes, framed by a smear of grease across her face, narrowed. “I don’t recall issuing orders for their deaths, Nate. But it’s possible a couple of my people took independent action.”

            The Overboss sighed explosively. “If so, I’ll need to have a chat with them. Nothing fatal – I applaud initiative – but there’s a time and a place. And it’s not now.”

            Mags Black pursed her lips. The blonde woman was as sophisticated as Nisha was sleek but no less deadly. “I’ve heard there’s a new Minutemen General,” she said tentatively. “I know it’s not in their doctrine but if they’ve wised up a little…”

            “Distraction?” Nate threw a smile at his other lady.

            “Possibly. Bunker Hill’s abuzz with the news that a Killian’s made an alliance with this Maxson of the Brotherhood,” Mags replied. “Colleen of the Fiddlers Green Killians.”

            “They’re like fucking cockroaches, aren’t they?” he sighed. “Though a clanswoman called Colleen – the only way she could be more Irish is if they’d named her Maureen and her last name was O’Malley.”

            Nisha snorted. “Could be an opportunist from the Capital Wasteland clans.”

            “I don’t think so,” Mags disagreed. “There’s a scavver who’s been operating out of the East with the same name. She’s known for her mastery of kern warfare.”

            “Kern _what?_ ” Nate asked. This was a new one.

            “When Seanascal founded the Minutemen and united the clans after the Great War, he also laid down the doctrine of Commonwealth warfare,” Mags answered in a lecturing tone. “Kerns are the hit and run skirmishers – snipers, assassins, explosives experts and saboteurs. Gallowglasses are the power-armoured infantry like the Cait Adamh in Quincy or these Brotherhood soldiers we’ve heard about.”

            Nate hated to be reminded of how many years Vault-Tec stole from him. He should have been out there with Frances Killian, bringing peace to the disordered Commonwealth, not frozen in a Vault. Now he was a Raider warlord because they were the only muscle who would take his orders. Shaun was gone and Sparrow wisely missing for her failure in saving their son. “So a scavver’s become a General. Is this the sort of thing we should nip in the bud?”

            Nisha shrugged. “We don’t know if it’s her doing this. The Minutemen are altruistic morons. I’d love to wipe her out on principle but…”

            “But?” Mags asked quietly.

            “The Brotherhood have vertibirds and we don’t have the armaments to take them down.” Nisha grimaced sourly. “We might need to invite the Gunners in.”

            “Oh for…” Mags almost forgot herself enough to curse. “We just got rid of the Pack. Why would we divvy up the spoils with those khaki-clad halfwits?”

            “They only got involved because Colter decided to be a dumb motherfucker and attack one of their bases,” Porter Gage, the last player in the new Nuka World, drawled from his seat. “They prefer the East and – no offence Overboss – we got no means of expanding there. We can play nice, settle down our territory here and let them piss off the Brotherhood.”

            “Why _are_ they here?” Nate mused.

            “The Institute,” Gage promptly answered. “They believe they’re the only assholes in the world who can decide what people can do with technology, so they come to a place, strip it bare and move on. Raiders with a badass theme and better publicity.”

            Nate tapped his chin. “You said their leader’s called ‘Maxson’, right? I knew a Maxson pre-War. Nigel. A motherfucker as smart as Colter, as competent as Mason and as easy to kill as the Hubologists.”

            “This one’s a little more competent, Overboss. A couple of our men from the Mojave say he killed a deathclaw with a knife.” Gage sounded impressed.

            “Huh, Nigel’s brother was said to be a good soldier.” Nate scratched his stubbled chin. “Mags, get your Operators investigating the slaughter at Olivia. Nisha, I want your Disciples clearing out Bradburton ASAP. Gage, keep a weather eye on the Brotherhood and these new Minutemen. Contact the Gunners, see if they’re interested in an alliance.”

            “On it,” Nisha said. “What if it _was_ the Corvega gang?”

            “We nail Jared’s ass to the wall and recruit his men. I love and respect you ladies dearly but we need more Raiders. That means we may have to create a third gang under Gage’s control.” Nate smiled cheerfully at his second. “I’m sure he’ll wait at least six months before challenging me.”

            “Oh hell no,” Gage said firmly. “I _much_ prefer an advisory role.”

            “Then find me someone who can be trusted,” Nate ordered, refraining from calling the redneck Raider a fucking coward. Gage had his uses even if he was a backstabber with delusions of being the power behind the throne.

            “I will.” Gage touched his forehead, stood up and sauntered out.

            “He has his uses,” Nate sighed as Nisha opened her mouth. “And we’re not ready to take on the Brotherhood. Hell, loves, we’ve barely got Nuka World under control despite our expansion to the East.”

            Mags hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve got a couple Operators with admirable self-control and a knack for infiltration. I think they can join up with the Minutemen. I’ve heard a little about this Maxson too and I’d rather not take the chance with the Brotherhood.”

            “Hire MacCready or that Killian at the Combat Zone,” Nate suggested. “Through proxies, all that shit.”

            “Please don’t tell me how to do my job,” Mags said dryly. “I don’t tell you how to lead or Nisha how to murder.”

            “Good,” Nisha said with a smirk. “I’d have to kill you.”

            “That’s what I love about you two,” Nate observed. “We each know our skills and our places. I wish my old wife had been half that smart.”

            “I wish I’d been able to find the bastard who took your son,” Mags said with a sigh. “I got his name – Kellogg – but he disappeared about a year ago. Nick Valentine was caught up with it.”

            “Leave the clockwork dick alone,” Nate said. He didn’t know if the synth was an Institute-made copy of the detective friend of Frances’ or not but he didn’t need to piss off Diamond City by murdering a valued citizen. “Any word on Seanascal?”

            “None. It’s believed he’s dead.”

            “Mags, my darling, I trained with that old bastard. Until I see the corpse, _I_ won’t believe he’s dead.”

            Nisha nibbled her pouty bottom lip. “I just had a thought – what if this Colleen is your ex-wife?”

            Nate entertained the possibility for all of three seconds before laughing. “Not fucking likely. Sparrow was a spoilt chem-addled Upper Standish whore, to put it in terms you and Mags would understand. She’s probably dead or left the Commonwealth.”

            “She was working with Valentine and that nutjob Deacon for a while,” Mags remarked.

            “Valentine would have helped her because he’s her godfather. Deacon…? Well, he’s crazy and convinced her Shaun led the Institute.” Nate’s fists clenched in remembered grief for his son. He remembered Sparrow’s last rant about how the Institute had taken Shaun and turned him into their leader. He could well believe the scientific assholes took his son but they probably used him up. Every synth he got his hands on died a painful death because of that. “There’s no way she’s this Colleen. You can’t take a spoilt bitch and turn her into a tactician.”

            “I had to bring up the possibility,” Nisha said defensively.

            “I know.” Nate blinked back tears. Even with these two he didn’t dare show weakness. “Just… fucking hell. If the Brotherhood’s here to take on the Institute, I might lend them a hand now and then. Those bastards killed Shaun and I want blood.”

            “We’ll stand with you,” Mags promised. “They threaten us all. But we need to be powerful first.”

            “I know, loves, I know. Soon the Commonwealth will answer to us and we can drown the Institute in its own blood.”

            “We’ll kill them all,” Nisha vowed. “Soon, only the strong will stand.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for mentions of death, violence, fantastic racism, grief, mental breakdown and slavery. Some answers for those who are wondering what the hell is going on.

 

By the end of the day, they had a working radio system and Arthur was able to contact the Prydwen with news of their success. Nothing was said of his taking on the mirelurk queen by the Brotherhood soldiers, though Danse’s low fierce lecture on his need to be cautious in battle was nothing compared to what Kells would do if he found out. Long was shelling the smaller mirelurks with Preston, the Colonel astonished to discover that Marci and Jun’s son had survived slavery to be rescued by the Brotherhood, while Colleen was going over the Castle with Captain Sturges to discover what could be scrapped, repaired or used. Haines and the other Brotherhood troops were loading the mirelurk queen onto Proud’s vertibird for transport to the Prydwen.

            Arthur sat down on the wall and looked across the harbour, sky and water painted in shades of amber and ochre. The Commonwealth was brighter than the Capital Wasteland and wetter than the Mojave, though the West had more wildlife and crops compared to the East. He missed Five Sorrows, Veronica, Arcade and even Raul. What would the tribal Courier make of the clanswoman General? The clans were somewhere between the tribes and the Mojave Wastelanders in attitude with their own peculiar quirks. He imagined Colleen meeting Five and laughed. They’d either get on grandly or murder each other in the first ten minutes.

            “What do you reckon we can do with this one?” Sturges asked right behind him. “He’s big and crazy but might come in useful.”

            “Leave him to me,” Colleen said dryly. “I might find something useful for him to do.”

            “I’ll give a holler when dinner’s ready,” Sturges said with equal dryness. “Have fun.”

            The mechanic sauntered off, his commander rolling her eyes at his back. “Smartarse,” she muttered.

            “I don’t know,” Arthur said with a grin. “I wouldn’t mind a little post-battle-“

            “General, get down here!” bellowed Preston. “We’re getting a message over the old Minutemen channel.”

            Colleen slid down the wall with a speed that left Arthur gaping before he jumped down himself. They clustered by the radio that Preston was tuning, trying to make sense of the words underneath the crackling static. Finally Long said something rude in Chinese and bashed the antenna in a manner that would make a Scribe cringe – but got it to work.

            _I’ll assign him to the team liaising with the Minutemen,_ Arthur decided. _He’s a native and known to both the Colonel and the Captain._

“So the Minutemen found themselves another fool to call General,” sneered a hoarse tenor. “And a Killian no less.”

            “My clan’s always been known for being foolhardy,” Colleen replied sweetly. “How’s it going, Barnes?”

            “I’d normally tell you lot to go fuck yourselves but we have a problem,” Barnes, whoever he was, said over the channel. “Nuka World’s expanding under that fucking traitor Finlay.”

            “No shit,” Colleen retorted. “That’s what you get when you hire a dickhead, especially one that’s been on ice for a couple centuries.”

            Barnes snorted. “Your tongue was always too sharp for its own good, Colleen. I’m offering an alliance because, thanks to Finlay and the motherfucking Raiders, the Gunners are down to me as their commanding officer. The Operators can be lived with but Finlay’s empowered the Disciples. The fucking Disciples!”

            “The only difference between the Gunners and the Disciples is that you’ve got the military fetish going,” Colleen said grimly. “Why the hell shouldn’t I just nail whatever you find most precious to a wall, Barnes?”

            “Look, we’ll hand over the Quincy squad, okay? Hell, you can even keep that treacherous little shit MacCready.” Barnes actually sounded desperate. “You don’t know Finlay, Killian. I do. And the man fucking terrifies me.”

            “What if we refuse?” Preston asked harshly.

            “Then I got no choice but to roll over and show my belly to Finlay. The Gunners are my people and Nisha’s got a grudge but she’ll back off if Finlay tells her to.”

            “Fuck.” Colleen’s voice was soft and low. “Give me about an hour to confer with my senior staff and the Brotherhood.”

            “Shit, you’re already allied with them? That’s good. _Real_ good.” Barnes sounded relieved now. “I’ll call back in an hour.”

            “Good. Just know, if we agree to anything, I’ll want the heads of _everyone_ involved at Quincy,” Colleen said icily. “That’s non-negotiable.”

            “Fuck. Fine. Barnes out.” The channel went dead and Colleen sighed.

            “Fuck the Gunners, ma’am. Can’t trust them.” That was Long. “They sold me into slavery.”

            “I know,” the clanswoman said, rubbing her brow. “But I have some ideas of going along with them. Barnes is a kern and a decent one at that. If the Gunners take the brunt of the shadow war with Nuka World, I can use them as proxies. Create a three-way conflict between those two and Corvega…”

            “Won’t Barnes know what you’re doing?” Arthur asked. “If he’s a kern.”

            “There’s kerns and then there’s a Killian kern,” Colleen replied. “I want to snap up MacCready’s contract before anyone else can. The man’s a born sniper and will make for a decent kern – and I _know_ he’s got a sick child back in the Capital Wasteland. Blue boil disease, I think.”

            Arthur exchanged glances with Danse. “Didn’t our Scribes find something in Med-Tek?”

            “Yes,” the Paladin confirmed. “Neriah’s almost synthesised it.”

            The Elder smiled at the General. “My people might have an experimental cure for the disease in a month or so. If MacCready doesn’t mind his child being the first test subject…”

            “I’ll check. I should head to Goodneighbour anyway.” Colleen sighed again. “I know the Brotherhood has issues with ghouls but John Hancock is the leader of the third-largest settlement in the Commonwealth. I also think he’s the Prince of Ghouls that Mama Murphy mentioned.”

            “It’d be no bad thing to have a few ghoul Minutemen,” Preston agreed. “I’m pretty sure some of the Neighbourhood Watch were Seanascal’s people back in the day, so they’ll know the protocols.”

            Danse’s mouth tightened. “What if they go feral?”

            “Bullet to the head,” Sturges replied bluntly. “But we ain’t gonna brush off a helping hand just ‘cause it’s ugly as sin.”

            “The Brotherhood’s not here to impose our ways on the Commonwealth,” Arthur reminded the Paladin. “The synths are a bigger concern.”

            “…True,” Danse reluctantly conceded. “But if some of the hardliners think you’re being soft on Brotherhood enemies, Elder…”

            “I’m not fond of ghouls but for that vaquero I told you about. I keep the danger they pose in mind. But I won’t start a two-front war either.” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll issue a decree forbidding Brotherhood soldiers from going to Goodneighbour and all ghouls to be escorted from our allied settlements to Minutemen territory. That should shut up Quinlan and the rest.”

            “Clever,” Colleen observed. “Placates the fanatics and keeps troublemakers away from Hancock’s territory.”

            He flushed with pleasure at her praise. “I might be a gallowglass, my dear lady kern, but I can be a bit sneaky when I have to be.”

            “Politics isn’t a strong point of mine,” Colleen admitted with a sigh. “Now Hancock, on the other hand, is good at that for all he’s an avowed anarchist.”

            _An anarchist ghoul. Sounds like fun._ Arthur idly wondered if he could meet this Hancock on the downlow. “I was hoping to stay but if Nuka World’s getting riled up, I need to brief my people. Lancer Long, you’re staying here as part of the squad I want to liaise with the Minutemen. I’ll send a Scribe and some soldiers in the next few days. Please don’t crash the vertibird.”

            The youth saluted sharply. “I won’t let you down, Elder Maxson.”

            “I know.” Arthur saluted him in turn and then looked at the Minutemen. “Thanks for the food – and the excitement.”

            “You’re welcome, Arthur.” Colleen smiled at him and his heart stopped at the sweetness of it. Why couldn’t the Brotherhood have produced such a woman as her, one fit to be called Lady Maxson?

            He took her hand and kissed it formally, much to Sturges’ snickered amusement – until Preston elbowed him in the side. “May the road rise to meet you, General Killian.”

            “And may God hold you in the palm of His hand until we meet again,” she responded with another smile.

            _I’d rather hold_ you _in the palm of my hand,_ Arthur thought irreverently as he turned for the vertibird. _Ah, Creator, why do you give such mixed blessings to us?_

…

“-So Maxson’s not the complete asshole we feared, though he’ll toe the Brotherhood line when it comes to ghouls and definitely won’t be friendly to synths.”

            Deacon accepted a flask of clean water from Carrington and took a swig. Safehouse Mercer was on the wrong side of the Charles River after the Institute’s purging of the Switchboard and then the Church. Fucking assholes. If the Brotherhood weren’t such genocidal pricks…

            “On the upside, we know the last op was a success,” Glory said. “You’re certain she remembers nothing?”

            “Amari outdid herself,” Deacon confirmed. “I’m not happy she’s the General but hell, with Finlay building a Raider army in Nuka World and murdering synths the way he does, she might be our best hope.”

            “ _I’m_ not happy with the Brotherhood Elder being her best friend,” Glory said sourly. “I honestly thought Clover had more sense than that.”

            “But she _isn’t_ Clover anymore. Wasn’t that the point?” Deacon shot back, more harshly than intended.

            Glory flinched and looked away. “We had two choices and that was the best of them,” the synth finally conceded.

            “We should have shot her in the head,” Carrington said bluntly. “Harsh, I know, but…”

            “Not a single one of Amari’s mindwipes has been reversed,” Deacon said heavily.

            “But this wasn’t a mindwipe, Deacon. A cross-mind link between two people with a battered old Gen-2 as the bridge…” Carrington shook his head. “Compassion is laudable. It also got Desdemona killed.”

            “If we hadn’t perfected that technique on Clover, we wouldn’t be integrating synths into the general populace with such ease now,” Glory said. “You can only stuff so many orphans and amnesiacs into the Wasteland before someone takes notice.”

            _Thank you, Glory,_ Deacon thought silently. The new technique they used was riskier than a straight mindwipe and memory replacement, but it allowed synths to retain whatever skills and personality made them unique while giving them a Wasteland context for how they turned out.

            Take one mentally fragile pre-War icicle who lost her son to the Institute, became a Railroad asset to find him and then broke down when she realised what an amoral monster he was, remove every bit of Institute tech from her body and scramble her memories with Deacon’s own to create a new history. Colleen Killian was far more adept at survival – and less of a danger to the Railroad – than Sparrow Finlay.

            Though it looked like some of the original compassion that was Sparrow’s greatest weakness bled through the carefully cultivated cynicism.

            “An Tiarna moves in strange ways,” said the last person in the room, a gravel-voiced ghoul, with just a hint of irony. “You’ve been wanting the Commonwealth to be united and now we have our chance. Stop bitching about how it’s done and be glad it’s happening.”

            “I’m a little surprised _you_ didn’t step up, _Seneschal_ ,” Carrington said snidely.

            “Don’t be sarcastic, Carrington. You don’t have the dignity for it,” Seanascal Killian retorted. “I had my try and the Institute shot me down in flames. Now it’s the colleen’s turn.”

            “I’ll keep on shadowing her,” Deacon promised his teacher. “She’s fallen for Maxson pretty hard and the feeling seems mutual.”

            “Don’t bother trying to break it up,” Seanascal warned. “You can’t survive another purge.”

            “Don’t you mean ‘we’?” Glory asked.

            “No.” The ghoul cracked his knuckles. “I’ve got another mess to clean up. I made Finlay and it’s high time I put him in the ground where he belongs.”


	9. This story is on indefinite hiatus.

I'm sorry. This story is dead for the time being because my muse is firmly in Skyrim and the fact I really don't play Fallout 4 anymore.

Just felt you deserved to know this.

Thanks for reading.


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